Fate, or Lastminute.com.
The idea is: three trips to change my life. Just like Elizabeth Gilbert inEat, Pray, Love. But not enough like her to, say, get sued.
I’ve never done anything like this before and I’m soscared and nervous.
But excited.
Obviously none of this is coming cheap, but I’ve decided to use the money I got when my granddad died last year. I had planned to put it towards a deposit on a house one day, but since I’m only a temp (and now not even that), I couldn’t get a mortgage that would cover even a broom cupboard in London. So I figured I might as well spend it running aroundthe world, making memories and changing my life.
I officially gave Eva a month’s notice on the flat. She protested weakly, but we both knew she’d need me out soon anyway, what with Jeremy and The Foetus moving in. But she couldn’t believe it when I said I was going travelling for a few months. Mark was really shocked, too. They both kept saying they couldn’t picture it. Mark said I’d giveup and be back within the week and Eva said nicely that she’d keep my room empty just in case.
I get why they were both so surprised. Because the thing is, I’m not really a travelling type of person. At least, I never thought I was. Because I have always had a very specific idea of thosetypesof people, and it just isn’t me. Travelling Types are naturally thin, tanned and don’t need to wearmake-up. They wear denim hotpants like they are comfortable and don’t cause chub rub. Travelling types just naturally wake up in the morning without an alarm clock on their phone. Actually, they don’t even have a phone because they are toofree-spirited. Or maybe they just have one of those Nokia 3210s because they’re retro and ironic, and don’t have the internet. Because Travelling Types don’tworry about the internet. They’re secure enough in themselves without the validation of strangers. But at the same time, they make friends easily, with, like, the guy sitting opposite them on a train. They have hair that doesn’t need ‘doing’ and they don’t get too tired to do anything after 9.30 p.m. They like sunsets and they’re not afraid of the ocean. They like all different kinds of food anddon’t need to know exactly what is in this dish and who made it and did they wash their hands properly. They don’t get travel sick. They don’t write bin collection dates on their calendar or get excited because Boots are doubling their Advantage Card points this month. They are laid back and spontaneous andgo-with-the-flow.
And, see, I am none of those things.
Plus, my massive,speculum-eating vagina would consume denim hotpants in one bite.
Genuinely, my body isn’t built for spontaneity. I need to be wearing the right underwear for spontaneity. I can’t just take off running in some new direction – not without wearing at least three sports bras. And my back rolls are made – and I say this with genuine fondness – for fetish websites, not string bikinis that disappear into myfolds. My hair gets frizzy in heat and if mosquitoes were on Tinder I would finally be a guaranteed right swipe. I burn and boil and sizzle like bacon in the sun.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I love a normal holiday – lying on a beach in Tenerife for seven hours straight, not realising I have burnt immediately, then spending six full days in the shade complaining about the sun. Taking eight hundredfiltered selfies in sunglasses that all look the same. Drinkingweird-coloured cocktails with umbrellas and screaming ‘EYES EYES EYES’ at Eva when we do a cheers.
Buttravellingis different. It’s where you’re supposed to become one with the world. Where you learn about and embrace exotic new cultures. Where you try and speak the language and eatdeep-fried spiders. None of it has ever appealedto me.
But I’m going to try.
I’ve spent the past couple of weeks immersing myself in thetravel-y internet, researching places and things to do, staring at photos on travel agent websites and ordering every single thing Amazon Prime recommended – including an oddly tall rucksack with seven hundred buckles, and a mosquito net that could realistically cover an entirefour-poster bed.
I’ve even been to myGPto ask about jabs! But then failed to get them because you have to do them all a hundred years in advance. Adulting fail, but oh well.
I’ve become obsessed with travel blogs, and Constance Beaumont’s blog, in particular. She makes it all look so serene and laid back and sunny, with her beachy waves and seamless tan. She’s got it sussed, so why can’t I? I can’t wait tobe just like her. That’s what I’m doing with myAWOLblog. I want it to be just as deep and cool as hers.
Actually, she’s the reason I’ve decided to makeLAmy first stop. She was blogging from Venice Beach recently, using words like ‘bohemian’ and ‘quirky’, which sold it for me because I have a bunch of floaty skirts andoff-the-shoulder tops that sound like they will be perfect for thatkind of place. The photos all looked so lush and there were topless men on scooters everywhere. I am here for all of that. And here I literally am, just a few weeks later. Five and a half thousand miles away from my life and my flatshare in London. A life and a flatshare that isn’t even mine any more.
And I couldn’t be more ready for it.
